


Day 1: Trust

by cincilin



Series: Zutara smut week 2017 [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M, Zutara Smut Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-07 22:33:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11068470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cincilin/pseuds/cincilin
Summary: It always came back to him. She tried to shift to other boys. But it always came back to him.





	Day 1: Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @zutarasmutweek 2017, but real life happened and i sort of missed it. but since most prompts are either all done or nearly done, i’m gonna still post them.
> 
> also, warning for contemplated non-con. no actual non-con happens, but better safe than sorry.
> 
> also, also, tbh, i feel like this one, and the one i have for dominance are pretty interchangeable (as far as the prompts go, not the content)

It always came back to him.

She tried to shift to other boys. Jet, at first, but thinking of Jet always brought a bitter taste to her mouth, and no amount of imagined scratches and bruises could take it away. Then Lake Laogai happened and Jet kneeling easily shifted into Jet laying which brought on the sickly green light and helplessness and lies told with best intentions. She’d always lose the urge at that.

She tried Haru, he had the personality, he was nice, he was meek, she could easily picture him looking up at her and blushing. But in her mind, he was always closely intertwined with his parents and that always ruined the mood.

She tried Aang once, and the sheer wrongness of that made her not be able to look him in the eye for three days.

So, it always came back to him.

At first she attributed it to the fact that the North Pole was her first taste of true victory. Even if she lost in the end. He had looked so… _Appealing_ seemed to be the closest word, stuck in the ice. His good eye bruised, a cut on his lip, a fresh burn. It stayed with her. Came back in the dark of the night when she grew restless, when her hand slithered between her thighs.

Then he tumbled down into the catacombs, landed on his knees in front of her, had to look up. Despite everything else that happened that day, that moment is seared into her mind. That and the feel of his scar under her hand. When she summons those from memory, she imagines her touch not having been gentle. She imagines scratching and punching and pulling until he looks as he did at the North Pole. Until he looks worse.

Then Hama happens.

 _That_ opens a whole new world of darkness. Now, in her dreams, it’s always a full moon. She no longer has to push, to shove, to do much of anything to hold him down. It’s so easy to get him helpless. Sometimes he is defiant, scowling up at her, his face red. Sometimes he’s terrified, humiliated. But it always, _always_ ends with him begging. For what, Katara doesn’t know. She never had any need to think past that point.

When he showed up at the Western Air Temple, it messes things up for her. He kneeled so easily. offered himself up, like it’s nothing. It makes her unreasonably angry. A lot about him has that effect on her.

It’s also worrying, how easily her fantasies rearrange themselves to accommodate this new information. He’s more of a wiling participant now. There’s less shoving, more begging.

Her breath hitches, her fingers speed up. The burst of white heat has lately been accompanied by an image of him kissing her inner thigh.

The prison outfit doesn’t help things. Not one bit. New pictures come. Did they push him around? Did anyone hold him down? Was he tied up? In chains? To a chair, maybe? She shudders. Bites her lip. If she did something like that, would he have bruises on his wrists, after? Would he pull enough for them to form? Would she? She’d have to heal him later, though. It wouldn’t do for anyone to know. Especially now that her father’s back.

This time, his hands are behind his back and he licks. She barely suppresses a moan.

The night after he pushes her out of the way of those rocks, it starts same as usual. It’s night, the moon is low on the horizon, round and huge. He goes down easily, stays down willingly, lets her hold him down, lets her use him, makes it all about her, her wants, her pleasure, her release.

After though… After she finds herself thinking whether he would curl around her, wrap his arms around her waist, bury his head in the crook of her neck. Katara covers her face with her hands and stays awake for a long time.

The next morning, she finds him waiting in front of her tent. Within a haze of rage and mortification, ‘ _How dare he?_ _Did he hear anything?_ ’ she wonders how long would he wait if she asked.

All of that gets pushed back for a while, though. There’s a hunt to prepare for.

 

* * *

 

After the tower, the village, the pathetic, hateful man, he hadn’t asked about the bloodbending. hadn’t asked why she did or didn’t do what she did.

Instead, he lead her away, helped her up onto Appa, took the reins.

At some point, when they have climbed above the clouds, where the air is razor cold, he turns towards her and asks, “Where to?”

The answer should be, 'Back.’ Back to everyone. Where she would have to explain herself to Aang. And Spirits, how could she say that to Sokka? Her _brother?_

She feels bile rise in her throat, and her eyes start to burn, she can’t work up the strength to form words, and she can’t believe she’s letting herself be this _weak_ where he can see her.

Except Zuko isn’t looking at her anymore. “I think,” he raises his voice to better reach her, “I think we should find someplace to rest up for the night. It’s been a rough few days, and… Appa must be tired.”

There is only the sound of air rushing past for a few moments, then, “Yeah,” she croaks, clears her throat, “yeah. We shouldn’t run… Appa ragged.”

They find a cave by the sea and when they land, Zuko’s on the ground as quick as lightning and holding a hand out to her. She takes it. She expects him to let go the moment her feet connect with the sand. Instead, he tightens his hold, leads her in, finds a comfortable-as-can-be rock and gently tugs her down to sit. From her new position, their connected hands are in her line of sight. She follows the line of his arm, to his shoulder, then further up.

She’s never seen that look on his face.

“I’ll go find something for the fire” it comes out in a rush, then he’s all but running away from her. She shakes out her fingers, trying to get rid of the tingling.

It doesn’t work.

She’s in the exact same spot when he returns. She doesn’t even know how much time had passed. Zuko doesn’t say anything, merely gets to work: builds a fire, starts the food, pulls out the bed rolls, feeds Appa, hands her a bowl of something hot and dense and, finally, settles on the other side of the fire.

The silence would be comfortable, if it weren’t for the fact that she knows, _knows_ that he’s gonna start asking questions any moment now. At this rate the trepidation is going to undo her in a way nothing from the past few days could.

“Um,” she grips her bowl so hard her knuckles go white, ’ _Here it comes._ ’

“What?”

“You should eat that before it goes completely cold.”

Katara can’t really do much more than stare blankly at him at that. He blushes under her gaze, scratches the back of his neck. “I mean, I’m no expert but,” he shrugs, “warm food is easier to keep down. When you absolutely don’t feel like eating.” She hadn’t even blinked. “It’s just my experience.” he finishes in a mumble, leans forward so that his hair covers his face.

Katara brings the food to her mouth, chews. Swallows. Puts the bowl down by her feet.

“And everything else?”

His eyes dart up to her, then back to his food, “Everything else?”

Her hands clench into fists, “Aren’t you going to to ask me?”

“Ask you what?”

She all but jumps to her feet, “About what I did! Didn’t do! About…” her shoulders slump, “About the tower.” she curls into herself, hates, hates, _hates_ how tears prick her eyes.

“No.”

Katara looks at him sharply, “What?”

“No.” his voice is clear, steady, certain.

“What do you mean 'no’?” she’s standing above him now, shouting.

“I mean,” he peers up at her through his hair, “that I’m not going to ask you anything about what you did, or didn’t do.”

She can feel her jaw moving, but there are no words. Finally, “Why,” she swallows thickly, “why not?”

“Because you don’t want to talk about it.” he says it like it’s obvious, like it’s that simple.

“But…” she’s looking down, at their feet. Zuko sighs and gets up.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he says.

“No!” her gaze snaps to his face, then quickly averts, “But…” she trails off again.

Zuko takes a step closer to her, “But what?”

“But Aang…” she feels her face scrunching up. “Sokka, too.” she mumbles to herself more than to him. From the corner of her eye, Katara sees him reach for her then think better of it.

“Hey,” he reaches again, this time his fingers ghost over her shoulder. “Hey, look at me.” She does and he finally places his hand down.

“This isn’t about Aang. It might be about Sokka, but even then not all that much.” he squeezes her shoulder. “This is about you. And you don’t have to justify nor explain anything to anyone. Least of all me.” His voice is soft, gentle, soothing.

It makes her see red. How _dare_ he? How dare _he_ be the one that understands? That sees her down to the marrow of her bones? That knows what to say?

The slap rings off of the cave walls, makes his head snap to the side, so that now only his scar is visible to her. His hand lifts to his mouth, comes away smeared with red.

Katara tells herself she’s not sorry, not at all. She believes it, too, until he turns to face her again.

Zuko looks resigned. Like he really didn’t expect anything else from her. Like he thought she had decided that he’ll be her punching bag for the rest of their acquaintance, and has come to terms with the fact.

 _'I don’t want_ _that.’_ was her last thought before she burst into tears. She was vaguely aware of him calling her name, but she merely buried her head in her hands and cried harder.

After a minute or so she felt him place his hands, ever-so-lightly, on her shoulders. Katara falls into him. Zuko curls around her, holds her tight, murmurs words of comfort, 'It’s alright’-s and 'It’s okay’-s that she more feels through his chest than hears.

After what could’ve been minutes or could’ve been hours, she moves away from him. He lets her go instantly. She wipes her eyes, sniffs a few times. Zuko is looking at her, searching her face. The blood had gathered in the corner of his mouth.

Katara reaches for her waterskin, “Come here.” his eyes widen, but he stays still, “Zuko, let me have a look at that lip.”

“It’s fi—”

“It’s not fine!” she shouts, “Now come here and let me fix it.” He swallows but steps towards her.

She has to pull his lip down with her thumb to reach the cut. His breath was never this warm when she imagined it. When the blue glow of healing fades, her touch lingers.

“I’m sorry.” his mouth moves under her finger.

Katara frowns, “I hit you.” she removes her hand, “I should be apologizing.”

“I’m not talking about now.” Hearing that, she lifts her gaze to the rest of his face. He looks pained, “I’m sorry for before.” he swallows, “For Ba Sing Se. And for acting like I didn’t understand why you’re angry with me. I’m sorry for that, too.”

Outside, the rain had caught up with them, and it’s pitter-patter was the only sound.

Finally, Katara says, “I shouldn’t have hit you.” He opens his mouth as if to argue, but she cuts him off, “Here and now, you didn’t deserve it.” She turns around, moves to set up her bed roll, it’s been a long few days.

“You made it better, though.” it’s barely a whisper, but Katara hears him none the less.

’ _So did you.’_ she thinks then falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

He leaves her by the lake and goes to get the others. Tells her that he’ll talk to Aang, to Sokka. She just goes to stare at the water. She still needs time to digest recent events. Not that that stops Aang. The more time passes the more obvious it becomes to her that the boy either genuinely  _cannot_  get her, or he simply doesn’t care to try. She doesn’t know which possibility saddens her more. Her eyes shift to Zuko. He looks ready to drag Aang away by the ear, if necessary. ’ _He understands.’_  the thought doesn’t upset her nearly as much as it did yesterday. The contrary, in fact. Katara has never had anyone that understood her so completely.

That realization makes forgiveness easy.

When her arms wrap around his neck, he rests his chin on her shoulder, lets out a hot, quivery sigh, as if a terrifying pain has just eased for the first time in a long while.

That sigh, along with the feeling of his chest to hers, of his arms on her back, of how warm he was, follows her into the night. Except, there is no moon now. Now, Zuko does things of his own accord. Oh, he still looks up at her, he’s still red-faced, on his knees in front of her, but she doesn’t need to force him there. She still pulls at his hair, though not nearly as hard as before, and in answer, instead of pained grunts and growls, she gets hot, quivery, needy sighs. And as her peak approaches, as her fingers become frantic, as she has to bite down in order to make no sound, the imaginary kisses that Imaginary-Zuko trails up her thigh are accompanied by his hot, hot, hot hands making their way to the small of her back. Katara comes undone to the vision of Zuko hiding a shy, satisfied smile at the juncture of her thighs.

Once she regains awareness of her surroundings, the soft bed, the wooden ceiling, the fact that she’s in _Zuko’s house,_ no matter how he claims he hasn’t been here for years, Katara concedes that she just _might_ have a problem.

 

* * *

 

The play alone would leave her in a horrible, awful mood, but what happened at the intermission made her downright miserable. They had gathered on the beach, built a fire, none of them truly ready to face sleep. Sokka’s doing his best to lift everybody’s spirits, going on about the many inaccuracies in the text, she isn’t really paying any attention at least, until, “Right, Katara?”

“Hmm?” she says.

“I said, that cave scene! I mean, come on!” Sokka spreads his arms in faux exasperation, “Like, 'Ohh, Prince Zuko,’” he starts in a falsetto voice, the back of his hand on his forehead, “'I’ve liked you since you first tide me up!’ Like _you’d_ ” he points at her “ever say something like that!”

Katara gives a wan smile while Suki and Toph laugh.

“You’re right about that Sokka,” Toph says, “Sugarqueen’s waaay too bossy for something like that to pique her interest.”

“Right?” continues Sokka, happy to finally get some feedback from his audience, “I mean, if Zuko here,” he points at Zuko, who seems incredibly interested in his boots, “wants to ever actually stand a chance, he’s way better off letting her tie _him_ up!” Sokka turns towards her, “Right, Katara?”

Katara feels her throat close up. The image of tied up Zuko is one she is intimately familiar with, but only in the privacy of the dark. She feels heat spreading over her face, panic rearing it’s ugly head. They’re on sand, how much will Toph know before this conversation is over?

Before she could figure out how to react to give away as little as possible, Aang jumps to his feet, “That’s enough Sokka! It’s not funny!”

Sokka lifts his arms in a placating gesture, “Hey, I’m just trying to lighten the mood a bit.”

“Yeah, well, you’re doing an awful job of it!” Aang turns on his heel, “I’m going to bed.” he all but stomps off.

Sokka rolls his eyes, “What’s his deal?”

“I dunno.” answers Toph.

After that, the conversation shifts to other things and Katara would be grateful, if it weren’t for the fact that Zuko was giving her a thoughtful look over the fire.

* * *

They went back to the house soon after, too tired to worry anymore. Still, Katara couldn’t fall asleep. She stepped outside, sat on the stairs, listened to the sea and soaked up the moonlight.

“Some night, huh?”

She doesn’t turn to face him, “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

After a few seconds Zuko plops down beside her, so close that if she were to breathe too deeply they would touch. “Probably for the same reason as you.” he says.

Katara merely hums.

They sit in silence for a while. Her eyes focused somewhere out at sea, him picking at the fabric of his pants.

She had started wondering if she’ll have to ask, when he takes a deep breath and says, “I wouldn’t mind, you know.”

Katara’s mouth goes dry. “Oh?” is all she can manage.

Out of the corner of her eye she can see the way his tongue darts out over his lips, “Yeah.” he croaks.

She turns to face him. His hands are curled in the fabric of his pants, and she’s surprised he’s not steaming considering how red his face is. He couldn’t seem to look at her.

“Wouldn’t mind what?” she whispers.

Zuko’s eyes dart to her, then back straight ahead. His hands curl even tighter. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, but no words come out. Finally, he turns to face her. She feels herself growing hot under the intensity of his stare.

Then, Zuko stands up. Katara has just enough time to go through the whirlwind of shame-humiliation-anger, before he kneels between her legs. She stops breathing.

Zuko for his part seemed to be focused on some inner struggle, if his scowl were anything to go by. Finally, slowly, gently, _carefully_ , as if touching something incredibly precious, he places his hands over hers, where they rest against her thighs. He guides one of them to the nape of his neck, and closes his fingers over the other. Then, and only then, does he look up at her.

The softness of his hair, the callouses on his palm, the way the moon reflects in his eyes and makes them silver, it is so much more than she ever imagined.

“Any—” he croaks, swallows, tries again. “Anything, really.” He looks away, then back at her again, “I wouldn’t mind anything you want.”

She shifts the hand on his head so that now it’s cradling it. He leans into her touch. “That's—” she swallows, “ That’s an incredibly big promise to make.”

His eyes flutter closed, and his hand squeezes hers, “I trust you. You know what I can handle.”

Katara takes a shaky breath. All this time, and never, not even once, had she dared think that this is something that Zuko might want, too.

She moves her hand back to his hair, makes a fist and pulls his head back. The sigh he gives in response burns against her lips.

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posted to tumblr, here: https://cincincilin.tumblr.com/post/161334756324/day-1-trust


End file.
